


First Meetings

by formalizing



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Biting, Blood, Blood and Violence, Dark Dean Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean Encouraging The Aforementioned Possessiveness, Exhibitionism, Extremely Underage, Hand Jobs, I'm Sorry, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Non-consenting voyeur, Permanent Mental and Physical Scarring, Poor Everyone, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, violence against a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo meets Sam and Dean Winchester for the first time when she's 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meetings

Jo’s seen them once or twice in passing, whenever their dad comes through looking for advice or a lead. Her mom will mutter about how they’re nothing but trouble, those Winchesters. She gets her first real look at them as she crouches at the top of the stairs and looks down to the front door as they file in.

Sam’s got long hair that hangs in his eyes a bit as he looks around, glancing over their furniture and the framed photos on the shelves. She knows he’s only got a couple of years on her, but he looks much older with that blank look on his face as their dad thanks her mom again, orders “you boys mind Ms. Harvelle this weekend” to a chorus of “yes, sir.”

Dean’s leaning against the wall across from where Jo’s hiding on the stairs, wearing a broken-in, brown leather jacket and jeans with the beginnings of a hole in one knee. She’s looking at the cute spray of freckles over his nose when he seems to sense her there, eyes snapping to hers, and she’s frozen to the spot. He grins slowly, holds her eyes for a long moment before he winks.

Jo can feel the heat of the blush on her face long after she retreats to her bedroom to wait for her mom to call her down for lunch.

\--

Lunch is quiet.

Sam doesn’t say much, except to politely refuse the bowl of soup her mom puts in front of him. When Dean walks in with what looks like a ham sandwich in a Ziploc, though, Sam takes it with a small smile. Her mom frowns, looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes, but Dean at least sits down to eat, calls her ‘Ms. Harvelle’ and thanks her for the soup, so she doesn’t comment.

Jo is too busy trying not to look at Dean to do much more than eat her own lunch.

Mom makes her show them to the guest room after. There’s a double bed and a rollaway cot in there, but they both throw their bags on the bed when they walk in, Dean stripping off his jacket and tossing it as well. Jo tries not to stare at the muscles in his back through his thin t-shirt, or the pocketknife she can see sticking out of his back pocket as she stands awkwardly in the doorway. She reaches across her chest with one arm to grab the elbow of the other, not sure what to say or do, especially when Sam looks at her with those far-off eyes, staring in a way that makes her shiver without knowing why.

“I’m, uh, gonna go do my homework, I guess,” she says with a shrug, wishing her voice didn’t sound quite so much like a little girl’s.

“Sure,” Dean says, stretching his arms above his head in a way that she maybe looks at out of the corner of her eye. She feels her face heat and hopes she isn’t blushing again.

Sam stops staring at her in that unnerving way to glance over at Dean, who turns to meet his eyes instantly, like he felt him looking, like he’s always waiting for Sam’s eyes on him.

Dean’s smiling when he looks over at her a long moment later and says, “Sammy and I were just thinkin’ of going out to spar a bit. You should come with us.”

Jo grips her elbow more tightly, shuffles her feet a bit.

“I don’t know. I don’t know much about that stuff.”

“We can show you,” Sam says, the first words he’s actually spoken to her since they got there. The curl of his smile is meant to look friendly, but she can’t help but swallow hard when she forces herself to meet his eyes.

\--

Jo leads them out the back of the house, to the far part of the yard near the tree line where her daddy used to teach her how to shoot. She thinks maybe she should have asked her mom if it was okay, but she doesn’t want Sam and Dean to think she’s even more of a little girl, asking her momma for permission. And her mom’s been so careful with Jo ever since daddy, like she’s breakable, that Jo knows she would have said no anyway.

She hops up onto a stack of old truck tires and settles in to watch as they easily fall into it. They’re both good, and neither one is pulling his punches, pained grunts of exertion and the smack of fists against skin echoing in the empty space.

The struggle usually ends with Sam pinned in one way or another, because he’s smaller and not as strong. Not yet, at least. But occasionally he manages to dodge Dean’s hands, using agility to out-manoeuvre him and actually beats him once. Dean comes back with new energy after that, lets loose with a wildness in his eyes and takes Sam down with a leg hooked around his knees, presses him facedown into the dirt with a knee in his back and both of Sam’s wrists caught at the nape of his neck.

Sam’s panting and filthy but grinning widely as he extends his fingers in surrender.

“Mercy,” he calls out, though it sounds almost sarcastic.

Dean leans down and murmurs something too low for Jo to hear, lips nearly pressed against the shell of Sam’s ear. Whatever he says makes Sam laugh, and she looks away, suddenly uncomfortable.

She pulls her thin jacket more tightly around herself and considers telling them she’s changed her mind, going back in to do her homework after all. But then they’re standing again, and Sam is gesturing her over with one hand.

“Your turn,” he says, squaring off and waiting for her to do the same. Dean comes up behind her and positions her arms, twists her body into position with one hand on her hip as Sam watches.

She clearly can’t keep up with Sam, can barely manage to execute the few basic self-defence moves her daddy had taught her once upon a time. He doesn’t just take her down and end it, though. He circles, patiently waits until she overextends and darts out to jab her in the side, making her double over with the force of it. He waits for her to recover and then does it again.

Dean calls out correction, instructions, finally, and she listens.

“There you go,” he praises when she finally manages to land a shot high on Sam’s cheek. The impact is hard enough to hurt her hand, but Sam just shakes it off like he barely felt it with a smirk that makes her insides twist up in knots.

He neatly deflects both of her next attempts and drives his fist in just above her stomach, buries it right between where the two sides of her ribcage join at her chest.

It feels like all the air’s gone out of her, like a popped balloon. She hunches forward and curls around herself, wraps her arms instinctively over her midsection, mouth moving soundlessly around the words as she frantically tries to tell him to stop, but she already can’t _breathe_ when Sam knocks her off-balance with a lazy swipe of his foot to her legs and her back hits the hard ground.

She’s gasping and terrified as he follows her down, grabs her hand from where she’s trying to protect her stomach and traps her right arm under his knee. She doesn’t have her breath back enough to scream when the pain hits, a sparking agony that engulfs her hand and up her wrist, shooting as far as her elbow like shards of glass, but her mouth is wide with the attempt.

Sam slides his palm over her throat, fingers curling forward in a tight grip to contain the few small, wheezing sounds she does manage.

“Ah ah ah,” he admonishes, punctuating each sound with a tap of his finger on the handle of the small blade that’s embedded in her palm. Each touch sets off a new flare of pain. “You’ll want to be very quiet and very still right now, Jo. It’s just in a branch of the nerve right now, but a little slip and it could sever an artery, and that could get messy.”

Her vision is starting to go a little fuzzy when he finally lets go of her throat, grabbed by Dean’s hands, and pulled up, flush against him. One of Dean’s hands settles on Sam’s hip, in the same spot he’d held Jo.

 _Risky, little brother_ , Dean murmurs in a low, rough voice that isn’t meant for her. _And completely unnecessary_.

Jo can see the other hand working Sam’s jeans open, popping the button and lowering the zipper, slipping in through the fabric and under the waistband of his underwear beneath. Sam groans and Jo looks away.

She can breathe again, frantic little inhalations that barely feel like breathing as she looks at her hand through her tears. There’s blood oozing up around what she now recognizes as Dean’s pocketknife and pooling in her palm. Two of her fingers are curved like claws and the other 3 are trembling like the rest of her. She tastes the tang of terror at the back of her tongue as she tries to straighten them and they don’t so much as twitch.

 _I don’t care_ , Sam says, breathless. His voice isn’t the blank, empty imitation he uses for everyone else; it’s full of emotion and sounds too old for him. Jo wishes she’d never heard it as Sam growls, _You’re such a tease._

Dean laughs, and Jo thinks about trying to run. She wonders if she could get her shaking legs to cooperate long enough to run to the house; she wonders if they’d stop her.

“Look at me,” Sam says, a there’s a sharpness to it that cuts through her thoughts and compels her to slowly sit up and look. Dean is wearing that same wide, feral grin, chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as his hand moves in his brother’s pants. He closes his teeth at the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder, and even though it looks hard enough to hurt, to break the skin, Sam just tilts his head to the side and lets him. The fingers of one Sam’s hands are tightly gripping at Dean’s hand at his hip, nails dug in hard enough to make him bleed, and the other is stroking through Dean’s hair. Sam’s eyes are half-lidded and all _wrong_ as he watches her, lips red and parted around each breath.

_I think she sees, now._

Jo shuffles across the ground until her back hits the tires. She pulls her mangled hand close to her chest with a high, pained wail that makes Sam shudder before sagging in his brother’s arms. Dean’s looking at her hand, at the blood that’s getting all over her clothes now that the blade has shifted inside her with the movement, torn open something new, as he brings his own up out of Sam’s jeans and licks his palm.

“Can you keep a secret?” he says, with a smile wide enough that she can see the sharp points of his incisors, the stain of Sam’s blood on his teeth.

She still isn’t sure they won’t stop her, if her legs will carry her, especially now that she’s starting to feel light-headed and dizzy, but when Sam opens his eyes and they both look at her, look at her with pupils blown like a couple of hungry wolves might look at a rabbit, she wrenches the blade from her hand, gets her feet under her, and _runs_.


End file.
